Small moments, Big meanings
by KaryInTheSky
Summary: Because sometimes the little moments are the ones that count. Some of them make us feel more alive, while others make our world crash down. This is a series of small moments that make a whole deal of difference...This Update: Rose and Scorpius
1. Checkmate

_Ron/Hermione_

--

Hermione sighed, deep in concentration, trying to find the right move. Her eyes hadn't left the board for the past minutes. With a hopeful look across her face she gave orders to her miniature knight which, in an epic move, captured Ron's rook.

"You go," she said, eyes still on the board.

Ron looked at her discreetly, trying to hide the smile that was taking over his face. She had moved her knight out of the way, just like he had predicted, leaving the way clear for his Bishop to perform a checkmate.

The game was almost over, he already had his next move figured out. But he still had a dilemma to solve. He had spotted the right move minutes ago and was waiting for Hermione to do exactly what she did for him to win. It was there, clear, and she hadn't noticed her mistake. But he wasn't taking advantage of it, instead he was observing her concentrated face, he was studying how it wrinkled when she frowned, something she did when she was truly concentrated. He was examining how her head tilted, making her abundant hair fall all over her shoulder, caressing her neck. He was also busy watching her as she bit her bottom lip, slowly and gently.

The decision was his: he could avoid doing a checkmate and continue playing the game, that way he would be able to stare at her unique frowning and her hair tangling around her exposed neck a little longer. It would also buy him a few more minutes of seeing her biting her lips. But he could also simply end the game and win yet another round of chess.

And just when he was opening his mouth, ready to give random orders to a pawn, with the single purpose of giving the game a little more time…

"What? For once you don't know which piece to move?" she dared to say.

He smiled, a little devilish, and spoke instead to his Bishop, ordering it to move all the way towards Hermione's King. The enchanted little bishop didn't show mercy to its opponent.

"Checkmate," he said, very pleased with himself.

"What? How come I didn't see that?" She sounded frustrated. "Honestly, I don't know why I even bother," her cheeks went pink, she was obviously very mad with herself. She stood up and returned to the book she had left a while ago, hiding her face behind it.

Ron didn't regret his final choice, with a silent smile he admitted for the very first time to himself -and to himself only- that she looked strangely attractive every time she lost at chess.

_A/N: Review please! It's not that hard, a few words will do the trick! They will make a difference... _


	2. Bitter Seed

_Severus/Lily_

--

His eyes wonder in astonishment, refusing to believe what he is seeing.

Lily is walking by the lake, very comfortable, but she is not with her friend Erin, as always. Instead she holds Potter's hand. She is smiling, and at times she even laughs. Severus does not understand. Since when does Lily enjoy his company? He does not know, for just a few weeks ago he was certain that she despised him more than anything.

Potter's face is what disgusts him the most. Most people would have seen a fool in love, but Severus does not see love, he just sees a fool. To Severus he just looks pleased, thrilled, like a complete idiot, arrogant as always, showing off his prize.

They stop walking, and Potter dares to caress her face with his free hand. Lily does not put resistance, she does not slap him, and after teasing him for a minute she is the one that leans forward to kiss him. The entire scene is disgusting. Severus does not realize that the parchment he has been holding is completely ruined inside his fist. Anger takes advantage of him and he walks away because he is sure that he will be sick if he has to watch that scene for one more minute.

It is not until after dinner that he has a chance to face her alone in a hallway. He should be fighting the temptation of talking to her, but he cannot help it. She ignores him but he runs after her, even though they have not talked in months.

"Lily," he calls her when he is close enough.

"Severus." She states, making it clear that his presence is still very unwelcome.

"Potter?" He asks, pronouncing it like a terrible disease.

"What about him?" Her eyes seem cold.

"So, you finally let him tangle you, didn't you?"

"Excuse me?"

"You gave in."

"I didn't let anybody tangle me. Is that all?" She says impatiently.

"You are making a huge mistake." He says coldly, making it clear how much he pities her for her lack of judgment.

"No, Severus, _you_ are. Turns out that I was…wrong about him," she says looking down. "But it wouldn't be the first time, would it? I was wrong about you too..." She tries to leave but he grabs her by the wrist, he realizes that he is using more strength than he should.

"Let go!" She orders, shaking her hand. "Why do you care so much, anyway? We've been behaving like complete strangers for who knows how long. What difference does it make if I'm with James?" Her face shows frustration but she leaves before she can be more expressive.

Severus stands in the corridor watching her walk away, until she disappears in a corner. His breath is short and fast paced.

Lily is wrong, _she is so wrong_, he thinks. It does make a difference; it makes a lot of difference...


	3. Just Tonks

_Tonks/Lupin_

_--_

"Ted's asleep," states Tonks as she stares at her husband lying on the bed, "and that leaves the rest of the night for us," she says, resting her body against the door frame of the bedroom. Remus' eyes wonder over the book he is reading.

"Is that so? And what did you have in mind?" he asks, pretending to be oblivious of her intentions.

"You know very well. But, never mind that. Let's focus on what _you_ might have in mind."

"Pardon me?" He says, this time looking interested.

"Yeah, like…a redhead maybe?" She asks shaking her head softly, and a long wave of red hair grows over her head. Remus laughs throwing the book to a side, leaving his attention just for her.

"No?" She asks smirking. "Maybe a blue eyed blond?" She shakes her head again and her red hair turns into a light shade of blond. With a simple blink her eyes go from light brown to crystal blue. Remus holds his smile but shakes his head again, disapproving her behaviour.

"You are out of your senses," he says. Tonks stops to think for a moment.

"Alright…a burnet, maybe?" Her hair is short now, and very black.

"Tempting," says Remus, but he shows that he is still not convinced.

"You are one man hard to please. Will you go for a blue hair, maybe?" She asks, turning her black hair into a bright shade of blue. This last action makes Remus laugh out loud.

"You look like a popsicle," he mocks.

"Well Remus, I'm sort of running out of ideas," she says impatiently, showing herself to be a little frustrated.

"How about Dora?" He suggests with nature.

"Dora?" She asks, raising her eyebrow.

"Yes."

"You mean Tonks?" she corrects. Showing that she still refuses to be called by her first name.

"Whatever works for you."

"Just...Tonks?" She still does not get it.

"Just Tonks," he says secure. "I kind of like her," he finishes with a little smirk.

She smiles shyly, and loses her smirk after seeing his. She loses her security as well, because things like these always make her knees tremble. Remus has a way to intimidate her that she cannot really explain. What is worse is his awareness to the fact, for he knows just what to say to shy her up.

"Your call," she finally says. She shakes her head again and her eyes and hair return to their most frequent colours: brown and pink. The same colours she was wearing when he met her. She walks slowly to the bed, resenting the way he just outsmarted her, but loving it at the same time. She does not have much time to think, though, for he pulls her towards him faster than she had expected.

--

_A/N: I can't stop finding this depressing, because I __love__ this couple and hate the fact that they died shortly after this. Anyway, please leave your comments to this new small moment. Thanks!! _


	4. Less Than a Week

_Percy/Audrey_

_--_

Percy's eyes ache immensely, and his back complains for the heavy hours of work. He removes his round glasses from his eyes for a moment, to ease the pain, drops the quill on the desk and leans back on his chair. He has not finished, but he finally admits to himself that he cannot take one more minute of it, not tonight at least. He just isn't as resistant to long hours of work as he was only years ago.

He closes his eyes for moment, and before he can settle in the silence of the room a sound manages to trespass the walls that have been excluding him from the rest of the house for the last hours. He hears a loud, girlish giggle coming from the other side. Another giggling follows, belonging to another girl, he can tell their laughs apart. He relaxes in his chair and closes his eyes again, giving into the beauty of those small but wonderful laughs.

But now he hears running steps, echoing through the wooden floor. He frowns, for he is not sure if the running is due to innocent playing or another one of their fights. But his frown softens when he hears another laugh, this third one belongs to a grown up woman. Percy cannot resist the curiosity, so he puts his glasses back on and walks out of his study.

He enters his bedroom, the place where the noise is born and finds his wife, spread on their bed, with two identical red head girls attacking her. But Audrey doesn't look upset, she is laughing just as hysterically as her two twin daughters. Molly and Lucy are tickling their mother, reaching for every inch of her skin.

Percy Leans against the door frame silently and a smile is born in his lips. Audrey's long, silk black hair is beautifully spread on the bed, and the girls step on it accidently at times, but she doesn't complain. She is too busy crying with laughter, trying to put resistance.

He admits he's fond of the sound he is hearing, very fond. Her spontaneous, child-like laughter was one of the things that unexplainably attracted him from the beginning, and she passed it on his two girls.

It isn't long before one of the girls notices his presence.

"Daddy!" yells Molly, who is grabbing her mother's stomach. "Come! We're attacking mum!

"We're winning!" cries Lucy.

Percy shakes his head, staring deeply into Audrey's grey eyes, which are also fixed on his.

"Dad's working, sweetheart..." explains Audrey plainly when the girls release her, allowing her to breathe properly. She is almost used to the fact, but the girls are too young to be used to their father's obsession with work –an obsession he refers to as mere dedication-.

"You know...sometimes I'm not sure if you're their mother, or their oldest sister," he teases through the tired smile that is taking over his lips. His work and his two girls have not let him rest properly for the last few days.

"Mock me all you want," she replies, filled in security. "But you wouldn't last a week if you had to handle these two without me." She stares at him brightly, and he knows she is right. He wouldn't last a week. A day, sure; two days, he can control them; after three days he'll lose his patience; by the fourth day they will be climbing on the walls or blowing up the house.

But what Percy knows well is that he wouldn't survive a week without her not because of her skills for controlling the twins. It isn't about that at all. He wouldn't last more than a week, because he can't consider his life without her in it.

And he knows she is very different than him, and he remembers how that interfered between them more than once when they were going out. But he thanks god for putting her in the way, and for being so different, because that's exactly what he needed when he met her, and it is still the thing he needs now.

He wouldn't last a day without her; he knows, she knows, the two earthquakes that steal his heart know.

He smiles widely, still tired but tranquil, satisfied. He walks towards the bed and Molly's petit body stands on the mattress.

"Daddy works too much," complains Lucy.

"I know! I know how to get him to stop!" says Molly brightly, and before Percy can anticipate it, the sharpest one of the twins removes his glasses from his head and runs for it. Lucy jumps off the bed and follows her in two quick moves.

"Lucy!" he yells, breathlessly, and immediately looks at his wife, who is biting her lower lip now. "Would you mind?" he says as if she were the one who has to put order in the situation.

"They are _your_ glasses..." she shrugs innocently and half smirks, because she always encourages him to spend as much time with his family as he can –even if that involves him chasing his daughters around the house-. He turns around, tired as he is, and runs after Lucy and Molly –whose small but clear giggles are once again taking over the house- to retrieve his glasses.

He knows he wouldn't last a week without her, and he is thankful for that because if it weren't for her he wouldn't have those two little earthquakes to begin with.

--

_A/N: A little different than the previous ones...the idea of Percy's daughters being twins makes sense to me. If you want to read a bit more about Percy and Audrey after they met then you can visit my fic 'the thing that matters'. Your comments are highly appreciated so please leave them! _


	5. colours

Victoire/ Teddy

--

To ask a person for his or her favourite colour is to ask a very simple question. Some will answer right away, others will take a couple of seconds, but generally a quick conclusion will be reached. Now, to ask Victoire Weasley for her favourite colour will probably be asking for too much. If you ever asked her at the age of eight she would have answered purple, although a week later she would have picked yellow. If you asked her when she was twelve she would have said red, but she would have answered blue by the time she was thirteen.

But if you ask her now, at the age of 15, she will remain quiet for a moment, hesitate and say that she loves them all, she will say that 'all colours have a special _something_.'

You may think she'd have a better answer sorted out by now, but the reason for her confusion isn't simple.

By the time Victoire Weasley was four she had already discovered her attraction towards colours, and it was none other than Teddy's metamorphic abilities, what motivated that peculiar fascination.

He can change his features as he pleases, and sometimes it is involuntary, although he learned to control it more than well. His eyes, his nose, even his mouth change responding to his own requests, but what has always fascinated Victoire most is the palette of colours his hair is able to offer. It is very intriguing, and when she was five she found herself more than once standing in front of the mirror trying to change the colour of her own hair. Of course, she never accomplished it and as she grew older she got over it, but she never got over her fascination for all colours, and now, she still cannot find just one to call her favourite.

If you ask her to be more specific, she may start talking about blue.

Conveniently enough, blue happens to be Teddy's most frequent hair colour which, by the way, matches his personality better: calm, smooth, but also strong and dedicated when the situation requires it. The first time that colour caught Victorie's attention she saw it on Teddy's hair. She was so little that she doesn't remember she spent that afternoon chasing Teddy around the Burrow to pull his hair, until he had to bite her arm to defend himself.

She also loves Red, and how could she not? She remembers seeing Teddy wearing a light shade of red more than once when he was a kid, mostly during family reunions, because Teddy always tried to blend in with them when he was little.

She loves yellow as well, for being such a refreshing colour, and whenever Teddy wears it Victorie knows he looks a couple of years younger, for some strange reason. She can't leave out her adoration towards turquoise, for being such a peculiar kind of colour. And green, she loves green, for being so peaceful.

Black, on the other hand, gives Victoire a mysterious, seductive feeling, and there is a very good reason for that. A year ago, during a school visit to Hogsmade, she was on her way in The Three Broomsticks to grab a butterbeer when her attention got caught by a tall man. Her friend Evelyn, pointed out that the man was insanely...attractive, and although she could only see one side of his face, Victoire agreed. But when he turned around, she realized that it was none other than Teddy. His hair was a bit messed, longer than usual and very black. Out of pure shock she dragged her friend out and drank that butterbeer elsewhere. She still doesn't admit that her attraction towards Black was born that same day.

And then there's pink, a colour very rare on grown up Teddy but very common when he was a kid. If pink is the colour of innocence, spontaneity and fragility, to Victoire it means one thing: embarrassment. It is one of the few colours that take over Teddy's head involuntarily. When he was little he couldn't control it. She remembers seeing his hair pink for the first time when he tripped over his shoes once in front of her whole family. His hair went insanely pink, but he learned to control it very fast, so she rarely sees it on him. But still, she's quite fond of the colour.

Just now she is looking at him from the distance. He's studying with his friends, and he must be very concentrated on his transfiguration essay because his hair is turning into a very dark shade of purple. Victoire laughs before walking away, because she knows he hasn't noticed, and he probably won't notice until one of his friends sees it and mocks him about it.

If you ask her why she knows all this, if you ask her why she connects her love for colours to Teddy's metamorphic features she will answer that she knows Teddy since she was born, so it's only natural for her to do so. If you dare to point out that it seems more like attraction or if you dare to tell her that it sounds more like love, she will tell you that you're out of your mind, that it isn't possible, that she knows too much about him to like him, or feel attracted towards him. She'll probably bite her lips, change the subject or leave, because that is Victoire's denial. But sooner or later she will enter reason and she will discover that that fascination with colours is just not normal.

--

A/N: Please, do remember to leave a comment, better known as a review...


	6. Anya

_Neville/Alice_

--

Neville's hands play with the gum wrapper he's holding. He sits quietly as he looks at the woman whose eyes display the same sadness as always. Her beautiful brown, yet tired eyes are absent and dreamy. They eventually meet his, but never recognize him, and after all these years Neville still resents it. Her grey strings of long hair are tied carefully. He remembers its natural colour, as he remembers just how beautiful she looks in those pictures of her youth that he still preserves hungrily. He can't see a trace of that woman in the picture now, not in her hair, or skin, and not in her eyes.

"So…mum…" he says calmly. "The school year is about to begin, so…I won't be coming for a while," he says, not waiting for her to answer, he never waits for an answer from his mother. Her eyes are fixed on thin air, not on him. "But I'll definitely be here on Holidays…" he states. She, of course, doesn't smile or nod, she simply stares vacantly. But he continues his explanation, because he always keeps her updated with his life, no matter how oblivious she is of it.

"And…Hanna…she's having the baby soon. She'll be due in two months," he smiles to that last and looks down at the blue piece of wrapping paper his mother had handed him when he arrived at the hospital a while ago. "You know…" he says, keeping his self together. "If it's a girl we'll call her Alice," he smiles again to himself. "If it's a boy we'll—"

"Alice," murmurs his mother, who had been sitting in front of him for the last hour without pronouncing a word. Neville looks up at her, half hopeful.

"Yes, Alice, like—"

"Alice," she says again and frowns slightly. "I know Alice…" she says, rather incoherently.

"Mum, you are—"

"Is that your daughter's name?" she asks now. Neville is surprised to see that his mother listened and retained most of the information he had been giving her.

"Well, no…not yet," he says.

"She's sad," she says faintly, "she's sad sometimes."

"Who's sad mum?"

"Alice."

Neville swallows hard, he tries to contain his emotions as much as possible. He looks down, accustomed to the silence that always takes place in their conversations.

"But...Anya…"

"What?"

"Anya is a beautiful name," this time his mother turns to him and smiles sweetly. She stares at him as he smiles back, doubtful but sweetly as well. "Anya is beautiful… happy."

Neville nods, and reaches for her hand, which she lets him hold for a while.

"Anya is beautiful," he agrees.

A nurse interrupts them and informs him that the visiting time is over; he kisses his mother's forehead and reminds her that he won't be coming back for a while because of his work, although he knows she won't remember that.

Two and a half months later Neville's daughter is born. Her eyes are a beautiful light shade of brown, but they're not small, or sleepy, or dreamy. Her eyes are wide and big, ready for the world that's receiving her. Neville looks at her and falls in love instantly, because Anya's eyes are bright, young and powerful. Anya's eyes are happy.

--

_A/N: First Neville fic for me! It may be a little weird, but not all kids have to be named after their grandparents, and in Neville's case his mother preferred it that way. I'd love to hear your thoughts. _


	7. In a Whisper

_Bill/Fleur_

_--_

Bill cannot sleep well once a month, twice sometimes. Tonight is one of those nights; he can't find comfort in his own bed.

The heat of the bedroom increases, thick drops of sweat run down his bare chest. He moves around his side of the bed trying to find a position that'll help him fool at least for an hour the symptoms that are provoking his insomnia. Suddenly he's short of breath, and within minutes his sweat turns cold.

He feels a dense, suffocating vapor taking over him, beginning at the bottom of his thorax, rising brutally up his chest and traveling all the way towards his throat. It's a process, by now, but he still cannot sleep each time he has to suffer it.

He takes one hand towards his face and feels the healed, yet deep cuts burning his skin as his fingers touch them. The temperature of the room increases again, to him only, and he starts feeling as desperate as always, he still cannot get used to this.

Bill knows what to do. One night a month he fights it until it gets the best of him, he never wins, for the anxiety and the heat always beat him. As always, Bill gets out of bed and leaves the room. He walks down the stairs and out of the cottage. He sits in the same spot as he did last month and contemplates the silver, platter moon and its wide reflection on the sea.

The wind stroking his skin, the grass beneath his feet and body, and the priceless view of the moon painted on the sea are enough to lower his anxiety, at least a little. He never goes back inside on those nights until the moon hides and the sun rises, because if he does then the symptoms of his insomnia will come back to get him. He has to settle for that purifying process, because it's the only way he can calm down. He takes advantage of the situation. He sits alone to think, to meditate. But that's just because Bill has always been a good administrator of time.

Tonight the sea breeze is more pleasing than ever. Bill breathes in and welcomes the microscopic particles of salt that enter his lungs. It has been only three…four years since he was cursed with this unusual disease. It is a disease indeed, because more than once he thought it would get the best of his sanity. He's not waiting for it to go away anymore, he has learned to deal with it. He's lucky; he knows he is, because it could have been much worse.

A soft, warm hand embraces the back of his neck, and without turning his head around he feels Fleur's body sitting next to him.

"I woke you again…" he says softly, staring deeply into the full moon that's in front of them.

"No. I couldn't sleep eizer," she whispers, and her lips brush his shoulder. The lines that define her mouth travel to his neck and end up kissing the lower corner of his ear softly. During this precious second she whispers something to him, something so short that for a moment gets lost in the sounds of the waves hitting the shore; but something so big that Bill feels short of breath again, his chest rises and he smiles to the meaning of her last words.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice almost broken.

Fleur nods, taking one hand to caress her belly while Bill stares at the beauty of her smile shining in the dark. He sees the light of the moon reflected in her hair, and he immediately wishes to have a girl, just so he can see that smile and that hair more times around the house.

Bill has forgotten about his so feared diseased, he can't remember much from the previous hours. Right now it is just about the sea, the breeze, Fleur and him. He laughs in the darkness and takes his mouth to her ear, he whispers something back.

"A girl?" Fleur asks, smiling radiantly before she says something in French. He's not sure what it means but he doesn't ask. His lips are far too busy tasting hers.

--

_A/N:__ A little description of Bill's reaction to full moons, turned into something else. I loved writing this, for many reasons. Please tell me what you think! _


	8. Sensations

_Scorpius/Rose_

He walks out of the dressers, and into the arena. The sun scratches his eyes, the sand welcomes his feet.

It all begins.

The shouts of the crowd bang against his ears. Some yell to encourage Slytherin, others yell for Gryffindor. He blocks what they shout, he doesn't care to translate them, they are not what he plays for, but the noise of the roars does feed his anticipation.

He finally gets on his broom. His feet, his legs, his full body rises from the ground. Suddenly the anticipation becomes stress. He reaches the hoops and stares into the crowd, the sun shining behind them.

The known sensation comes back to him, pride swells in his chest, he has to play his best.

His chest trembles; his head, neck, hands and legs begin to sweat. His heart, usually calm and unnoticed, rises and beats desperately, he can hear it so well, he could almost talk back to it, to remind him that he should learn to calm down before each game.

But he doesn't really object to that unleashed round of sensations. It is part of his natural process, it is the reason he rides that broom, the reason he practices for hours until he can't move one muscle, the reason he feels utterly alive.

It's the reason he's so damn good at it.

The Gryffindor team enters, he pays little attention to them, he will not be distracted.

His heart trembles again to the sound of the whistle that determines that the game begun.

Finally.

His eyes focus, concentrate on one thing: the Quaffle. He contemplates how it moves from one player to the other. His hands sweat again, he waits calmly for it. A subtle smile covers his mouth when Fred Weasley flies towards his direction with the Quaffle under his arm.

The adrenaline, the stress, the fear and pride crash against Scorpius, all at once. It's the alarm that tells him what to do. The Weasley kid moves quickly, but not enough. Scorpius reaches for the flying quaffle faster than he can think of it and stops it from entering the hoop.

The Slytherin crowd shout his name. It's not why he plays, but he does love the revitalizing fire that takes over him after each success, and the crowd is only a reminder of it. A strange calmness takes over him, the stress is still there, but for a moment he enters in a secure equilibrium, another sensation he fancies.

The game begins once again. Gryffindor has the Quaffle. He tries to avoid looking at the players, for he knows what could happen. His grey eyes concentrate on the ball only.

An error occurs in his perfect game.

The Weasley girl, Rose is her name, has the Quaffle and flies in his direction. He freezes instantly. The stress goes for a second, the anticipation dies, for a brief moment she kills all that, and Scorpius can only hope for her to raise her blue eyes and look at him directly...like she almost never does.

But she's flying secure, safe, a strategy probably planned in her head. She's closer by the second, and his heart comes to life again, beating unbearably. The sensations come back, but in the wrong order. He sweats as he breathes, he trembles as he moves, his pride falls apart, the stress eats his movements.

But he works hard to concentrate back again, and he knows what he's capable of, he knows all that he can do.

He's ready for her attack. He knows her moves well, she'll try to score on his right.

But when she reaches him, her eyes look up, at him. He blocks again, but for a few seconds only, and he moves quickly to stop the Quaffle that flies in his way. He does not calculate at all well, and the last thing he sees is the ball crashing against his head.

Scorpius opens his eyes slowly, his head swelling in pain. He feels dizzy for a moment, and quickly tries to review the past events, but fails at it.

"Look Thomas, he's alive..." a female voice says. At first he sees a blur, but then it turns into Jasmine's and Thomas' figures. His friends are standing next to him, and he can tell by now that he is laying in a bed at the Hospital Wing.

"Finally Mate..." Thomas says. "Good game, huh?" His friend continues, somehow mockingly.

"Leave him Thomas," Jasmine complains. Scorpius looks at her estranged, for it isn't in her personality to be compationate. "It's not his fault that he got beaten up by a girl..." She laughs. Scorpius rolls his eyes, but smiles, that sounds more like Jasmine.

"Who won?" He roughly asks, his throat soaring.

"Lily Potter caught the snitch the moment you hit the arena," she says. "What was that, anyway?" she then asks, and when Scorpius looks at his burnet friend he frowns.

"Just...a little distraction."

Jasmine raises her eyebrow. "A little red head distraction, maybe?" she asks. Scorpius feels a rush invading his body, from head to toes, but his tongue is fast.

"No," he says dryly. "Just a miscalculation."

"You know, she's been looking for you. The Weasley girl," Jasmine says then, and the last name bangs against his chest. _Rose_ is her first name. "I think she feels bad about it, she's been coming every other hour." He holds back the smile.

Scorpius walks out of the Hospital Wing, glad to free himself from the nurse, but mainly from his two teasing friends, who won't stop reminding him that they lost the match thanks to his little_miscalculation_.

He breathes in, his neck soars from the fall and doesn't anticipate that the Weasley girl is walking towards him, her blue eyes opened widely, looking straight at him.

"I've been looking for you!" she says, stopping in front of him. He hates it when she stops walking. He'd rather see her wild red curls dancing over her shoulders.

"Hey Weasley," he whispers plainly. It's all he says, and he barely has time to wait for the torment of sensations that attack him then.

It all comes back; anxiety, fear, pride...the stress, the acceleration...the trembling of his chest; it's all so messy, so incomprehensible...so much better than what he feels at the Pitch.

"I'm really sorry. I don't know what happened. I wasn't aiming for you head..." she says, her face fills with worry. "Are you alright?" she asks.

"Brilliant," he says roughly. A little smile escapes her unexplainably pink lips. She twists them in such a tempting way that he feels like asking her to stop smiling, for her own safety...

But he is better than that, he can control the impulse of stealing a kiss, he can hold back the urge of touching her skin, feeling it...

"Good then," she shrugs, walking back, taking with her the pleasure he gets when he contemplates her figure. "I'll see you, Malfoy."

"See you, Weasley," he says, like he doesn't know her first name by heart. But after years of studying together, there's still a long distance between them.

She walks away, fast, secure. Scorpius feels his heart running at a healthy, regular pace again. The stress is gone, the anxiety fades, and he is left with a strange and somehow soothing calmness.

He's not at all sure that he enjoys going through that hormonal process each time he sees her, and to be honest it's not good for Quidditch. He does not need a distraction, especially not _that_type of distraction.

He then smirks, involuntarily. Call him a masochist, but he would take another hit with a Quaffle from her again, anytime.

_A/N: This takes place somewhere at the end of fourth year. Hope you liked it =D Please, remember to review_


End file.
